


Reconfiguration

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is fifteen minutes late, but Grantaire isn’t too bothered.  </p><p>Enjolras is always late to everything, always too preoccupied with one thing or another to keep track of time properly. Plus, it’s 7:15 p.m. on Valentine’s Day, and Grantaire knows that traffic at this time, especially on the main street, is bad. Assuming that Enjolras only realised fifteen minutes ago that he’s supposed to be meeting Grantaire for dinner, it would take him another ten or so minutes before he’ll show up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconfiguration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weisbrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weisbrot/gifts).



> Inspired by [this lovely piece of art](http://weisbrot.tumblr.com/post/139329476853/stood-up) by weisbrot. Bless you for all the A++++++ art you keep making. <3

Enjolras is fifteen minutes late, but Grantaire isn’t too bothered. 

Enjolras is always late to everything, always too preoccupied with one thing or another to keep track of time properly. Plus, it’s 7:15 p.m. on Valentine’s Day, and Grantaire knows that traffic at this time, especially on the main street, is bad. Assuming that Enjolras only realised fifteen minutes ago that he’s supposed to be meeting Grantaire for dinner, it would take him another ten or so minutes before he’ll show up.

Grantaire reaches out and brushes his fingers over the soft petals of the bouquet of roses he’s set on the table, and smiles to himself. The fancy dinner, the bouquet, they’d all been a little on the high end of the price spectrum, and Grantaire is definitely going to have to live frugally for the next two or so weeks to make up for tonight, but it’s not every day that Enjolras agrees to go on a first date with him, and on Valentine’s Day, no less! 

So, no, he doesn’t mind if Enjolras is a few minutes late. 

He doesn’t really mind the waiting.

—

At the mark of the first hour, a concerned waitress comes over to ask if Grantaire is okay, and Grantaire forces himself to smile, to tell her that his date is running late, that he will be here anytime soon.

He repeats the same words thrice over the course of the next forty-five minutes, tries —and _fails_ — to pretend that his cheeks aren’t hot with humiliation. 

—

He leaves after three hours of waiting. 

He doesn’t bother to take the bouquet with him.

—

The first thing Combeferre says to Enjolras when he shows himself into Enjolras’ study is, “That was unnecessarily cruel, even for you.”

Enjolras looks up from his paperwork to blink at Combeferre. “Sorry?”

“You should be,” Combeferre says, voice clipped in the way that only occurs when Combeferre is really angry at him.

Enjolras doesn’t really know what he did to deserve that. He waits for Combeferre to continue speaking, to explain the reason behind his irritation at him this morning, since it must be clear to Combeferre by now that Enjolras hasn’t had any sleep last night, and therefore shouldn’t be relied upon to make intelligent deductions, but when Combeferre doesn’t, Enjolras says, “Did I do some-”

“If you weren’t planning on showing up, you shouldn’t have said yes to Grantaire,” Combeferre interrupts, speaking over him. “If you only said yes to Grantaire with the explicit intention of not showing up, then, like I said — unnecessarily cruel, even for you.”

Enjolras startles at Combeferre’s words. “I-” he says, and there’s something in Combeferre’s eyes that sparks a burst of clarity in Enjolras. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, “I had a date. With Grantaire.”

“You stood Grantaire up,” Combeferre tells him. “On Valentine’s Day. After he went through all the trouble of planning the perfect night out.”

“I-” A stab of guilt runs through him. “I forgot,” he tells Combeferre, and knows that it sounds like the feeblest of excuses. 

“Do you know how upset he was when he came back last night? He waited for you for _hours_ ,” Combeferre says, and it’s understandable now, why Combeferre is so angry at him; Combeferre and Grantaire grew up in adjacent homes, they’re like brothers to each other. “I told you not to string him along.” 

Enjolras shakes his head. “I meant to go, I swear I did,” he says. And then, “I _wanted_ to go. I just…” _Forgot_. The word gets stuck in his throat, and he struggles to push the awful feeling in his chest down. “I need to see Grantaire.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea right now,” Combeferre tells him, and he still has his arms crossed over his chest, but the look in his eyes appear softer, now that he’s ascertained for himself that Enjolras hadn’t stood Grantaire up on purpose. 

“I have to,” Enjolras says, pushing himself up from his seat. “I have to apologise to him.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre says quietly. “He left early this morning, said he wanted some time alone.”

“What?” Enjolras asks, alarmed. “Where did he go?”

“He couldn’t tell me,” Combeferre tells him. “He said he didn’t know where he would be going either.”

Enjolras’ heart sinks. “Oh.”

“You should try giving him a call,” Combeferre says, but it’s clear to the both of them that Combeferre doesn’t really think that Grantaire will pick up Enjolras’ call. “I’ll…see if I can persuade him to listen to you.” 

He doesn’t promise Enjolras that he will make it happen, even though Enjolras knows that Combeferre has that power; they’re each others’ best friends, but friendship only goes so far when competing against the kind of casual brotherly relationship that Combeferre has going on with Grantaire. 

He nods, all the same, and thanks Combeferre.

—

The first thing Enjolras does after Combeferre leaves is to dig his phone out from where it’s hidden under the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Combeferre said that Grantaire’d waited for him for hours, but there aren’t any missed calls from Grantaire, not even a text to ask where he is; Grantaire must’ve been _so sure_ that he would show up.

He tries dialling Grantaire’s number, an apology already resting at the tip of his tongue, but Grantaire doesn’t answer, and Enjolras is left not knowing how he can find Grantaire so that he can talk to him. 

On a whim, he tries looking up Grantaire’s social media accounts to search for clues as to where Grantaire is, but the last photo on Grantaire’s Instagram account is of- _Oh_.

It’s a beautiful bouquet of roses, artfully wrapped in red and black tulle. 

It looks lavish, looks extravagant. It must’ve cost Grantaire a fortune. 

The photo is captioned _Wish me luck!_ and timestamped fifteen hours ago, and Enjolras’ heart aches terribly in his chest thinking about what Grantaire must’ve been feeling last night, sitting in the restaurant, waiting for him to show up. 

He calls Grantaire’s number again, buries his face in the crook of his elbow when there is still no answer, and prays that Grantaire calls him back.

—

Grantaire doesn’t call him back.

—

It’s been a week since Valentine’s Day, and Grantaire still isn’t back. 

Joly and Bossuet don’t outright glare at him throughout their weekly meeting, but it’s a near thing. 

Enjolras seeks them both out after the meeting ends, even though he knows it’s not a good idea. They’ve both been drinking throughout the meeting, and they don’t seem to like him very much right now. Even so, he has to know.

“Do you know when he’s coming back?”

For a long moment, none of them say anything in reply to Enjolras’ question. And then, Bossuet says, “After the way you broke his heart? I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t come back at all.”

Enjolras’ chest tightens painfully. It hadn’t occurred to him that there was a possibility of Grantaire just…never coming back. “But…” Enjolras manages to say weakly. 

“Do you know how excited he was for the date?” Joly asks quietly from his seat beside Bossuet. “Do you know how much he was in love with you?”

His heart skips a beat. He’s fairly sure that his eyes must be comically wide. “He-”

Bossuet shakes his head. “You didn’t even know, did you?”

“You must be the only person who doesn’t,” Joly says. “Everyone knows.”

“I didn’t think you’d agree to go out with Grantaire when he asked,” Bossuet tells Enjolras. “Now I kind of wish you hadn’t. It would’ve hurt him a little, but it’d have probably been better than being stood up.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It doesn’t make it any better, Enjolras,” Joly says. And then, he swallows and sighs. “I’m sorry we’re being jerks. We just- We miss him.”

Enjolras nods. “I miss him, too,” he says quietly. 

Bossuet sighs, and bumps his shoulders against Enjolras’. “You didn’t say yes to him out of pity, did you?”

Enjolras thinks back of the night Grantaire asked him out, standing nervously just outside the door of his study, practically speaking to his own sneakers, face flushed bright red. There was something so… _endearing_ about Grantaire in that moment that there wasn’t any other answer that Enjolras could’ve given except _yes_.

Grantaire’s gaze had snapped to Enjolras’, and he smiled so brightly that there wasn’t any part of Enjolras that regretted agreeing to the date at all. 

He thinks about staring at his phone and waiting for Grantaire to call him, getting flutters in his stomach whenever his phone rings, only for the hope to flicker and die every time he sees that it isn’t Grantaire calling. 

He doesn’t really know why he said yes to Grantaire that night, but he knows without a doubt that the feeling that’d settled in his chest that night wasn’t _pity_.

“Enjolras?” Joly calls.

“I didn’t,” Enjolras says, snapping back to himself. “I wouldn’t have.”

—

Grantaire finally shows up at a meeting two weeks later. He sneaks in through the back door fifteen minutes late, as he is wont to do, and settles down silently at the table at the back of the room, and it is only because Enjolras has the floor that he even sees Grantaire at all. 

Enjolras calls a recess immediately, and finds his way to Grantaire. None of their friends, to their credit, try to stop him at all. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, when he reaches him. “You’re back.”

Grantaire avoids his gaze. “You’re astute tonight,” he says. 

“I…” Enjolras swallows. His heart is beating too fast and too loud. “Where have you been?” he asks, even though the words that he really wants to say are _I’ve missed you_. 

“Around,” Grantaire says airily, still not looking at Enjolras, staring straight at his flask instead. “I thought it was time for a vacation.” 

“I’ve-” _Missed you._

“You should get back to the front. Feuilly and Bahorel both have work after this. You shouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time,” Grantaire says, meeting Enjolras’ eyes for the first time in three weeks, and Enjolras can feel his eyes beginning to sting, because gone is the amusement, the soft fondness, the gentle affection that he’d gotten used to identifying Grantaire with somewhere along the line. 

God, he must’ve hurt Grantaire so much.

He walks slowly back to the front, ignoring Courfeyrac’s comforting hand on his shoulder as he walks past, and resumes the meeting. He turns his focus back to the protest that they’re planning for next month, even though it takes more effort than it should to concentrate on the topic.

He manages fairly well for another fifteen minutes before he gets distracted by Grantaire standing up, and leaving through the backdoor. 

“Go,” Combeferre tells him firmly from his side, and picks up seamlessly from where Enjolras left off in the middle of his sentence, leaving Enjolras to go chasing after Grantaire. 

—

Grantaire startles when Enjolras bursts out through the backdoor of the Musain. Enjolras never comes through here. Grantaire hadn’t even realise that Enjolras noticed that he slipped out.

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras says, coming up to him, and Enjolras sounds so relieved that Grantaire is kind of confused. “You’re still here. You didn’t leave.”

Grantaire raises his cigarette. “You hate it when I smoke inside,” he says. 

Enjolras swallows. “I thought you left again,” he says in a rush. “I thought- I was afraid you’d leave again, and not come back this time.” 

Grantaire looks away from Enjolras. 

He knows that running away wasn’t the best idea, but it’d seem pretty great at that time. All Grantaire had wanted three weeks ago was to not have to see Enjolras ever again, but he’d stupidly missed him while he was away anyway, because of course that’s the way his mind works. 

He wants to hate Enjolras, even just a little bit, but it’s difficult when he loves him so much. 

He doesn’t register the way his eyes are prickling with tears until his vision turns slightly blurry. “You said you’d come,” he says quietly. “I asked, and you said you’d come.”

“I know I did,” Enjolras says. “I wanted to-”

“But you didn’t,” Grantaire interjects.

“But I didn’t,” Enjolras echoes. “Not because I didn’t want to. I just… _forgot_. And I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I promise you, Grantaire, I wanted to go. I was _excited_ to go, I swear I was.”

Grantaire wipes the back of his hand over his eyes. “Didn’t make the to-do list, did I?” he asks, and he knows that he sounds bitter, but he thinks he’s allowed to.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says, earnest, and _oh_ , Grantaire hadn’t factored in how convincing Enjolras can be, how determined he is when he’s got his mind set on something. “I’m so sorry I didn’t show up, I’m so sorry I forgot. It won’t happen next time, I promise.” 

Grantaire snorts. “Next time?”

Enjolras’ face falls. He looks stricken. “There will be a next time, won’t there?” he asks tentatively. 

Grantaire doesn’t say anything. 

“I hated every moment you weren’t here,” Enjolras confesses. “The last three weeks- You don’t know how much I’ve missed you the last three weeks. I’ve missed getting random texts from you, I’ve missed you sending me photos of every single dog you see on the street, I’ve missed you randomly showing up at my office with lunch.” He swallows. “I’ve been…taking you for granted. I haven’t put any effort into making this work, or… Or even just being your friend, if that’s all you want with me right now. I want to change that. I want to do better, I know I can.”

Damn it, Grantaire’s always been a sucker for Enjolras. 

“You owe me dinner,” he tells Enjolras, and if his voice is a little wobbly, it’s okay, because Enjolras doesn’t bother calling him out. “And flowers. They were very nice flowers.”

Enjolras nods, and then slowly reaches out to touch the tip of his fingers to the back of Grantaire’s hands. “I know,” he says, “I saw.” And then, “I’m sorry.” 

Grantaire turns his palm over and slots their fingers together. Enjolras’ grip is a little too tight, and his own palms are a little sweaty, but that’s alright; they have time to practise getting better at holding hands. 

“It’s okay,” he tells Enjolras, because it is _now_. “Do better next time.”

“And every time after that,” Enjolras promises, and then kisses Grantaire.

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out I really have a thing for Grantaire and Combeferre being bros SHHHH I KNOW. And yes, I know it's not Valentine's Day anymore I TRIED OKAY? 
> 
> I'm [here on tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi! :D


End file.
